Some absolutely ca ca I wrote at work, be warned very long.

This really has no bearing on any events that have happened to me in eq, just kind of a story I have concocted in my mind for my monk. It's probably not going to be worth reading (yes this is a disclaimer) because I'm just kinda writing it off the top of my head while I'm bored at work.





The sickly humid air formed an almost tangible canopy over the entire east half of Cabilis. While this wasn't exactly an out of the ordinary occurance for the city set in the midst of jungle and swamp - it seemed almost on this day that the very elements themselves were in audience to the city.



Yes, I remember this day; and above else I remember the distinct feeling of being observed. This silent stalker was not formed in the eyes of the crusaders who almost outwardly leared at me, nor the warriors who cast me a downward glare. This was a feeling of someone prying into my thoughts and my soul. Not one given to much superstition or paranoia, I quickly dismissed the unnerving sensation and continued my trek toward my old training grounds. The red soaked ground where I learned to channel my pain and my fear into both a destructive and beautiful force. I approached the gates with much trepidation as I had received a personal summons from a master who was known by a very select inner few of the Swift Tails, and whose name was known to none. This nameless Master was whispered of in all corners of the Court of Pain and often the ascertation of his existance or the claim he was merely legend would be enough to cause skirmishes between some of the more dogmatic of the brood.



I stopped my journey just shy of the Hagle Baron to consider the happenings of this day. How was I found and delivered this summons? My days of providing service to the Court were long past. Were I not a Master unto myself now? Had I not payed to leave with blood and bile? I bear both the scars and the dishonor of being a ronin Swift Tail, do they wish to increase my punishment for independence even more? By both the mandate of the hierophants and code of the masters; once a Swift Tail earns his right to wander as a Jusshh'Antah, or in the more common tongue "lone walker" he is no longer bound by any of the rules of the city factions. I have no place in this city any longer: and yet I am here. Honorless and dangerous in the eyes of those who can neither control nor understand my spirit: the eyes of all who watch me stroll past towards my old home.



I hold my head high, displaying in my eyes a promise of exquisite pain for any who would dare to hinder my passage. Cloaked in visible auras which were trophies from various slayings of Gods and those whom would assume the rank of God over all that reside in their lands, I strode up toward the center staging area where Grandmaster Glokx sat in his smug position of power.



"Ahhh, Ript. Wise of you to heed your summons." The thick scaled elder iksar rasped out in our native tongue.



"I'm am not pleased Glokx," intentionally ignoring his formal title to remind him of my status of one not under his control, "I do not know how I was found, nor why. I would prefer we resolve whatever business it is you have with me and I can be gone of this place. And please, Glokx, only address me in the common language of men if you wish to commune with me further."



"Ever the impudent Whiff!" He spat in my face, in a very broken common.



At once it seemed that both of us were poised and ready. Only one who had studied the muscle control techniques of a martial artist for years could tell that either of us could spring at a moment's notice and be upon the other.



"I did not call you here for any reasons that are my own," Glokx continued, "but rather it seems that you have somehow caught the attention of someone with a higher calling than either of us shall ever be granted.



You shall stay here this evening, no questions, and we shall finish up your task tomorrow when the sun is new."



"I care not for games, Glokx. There is not a request you nor any of the council of elders could have of me that would require me staying in this cursed monument of a failed empire a full night."



"Impudent Whiff!" As the Grandmaster spat his most favorite reference for me, he jerked upward and forward, causing his body to spiral, tail flailing in a controlled circle toward me. Within an eye's blink I had his left leg wrapped in the sinews of my robe and his body pressed firmly against pavement.



"You are altogether too predictable thick-scale. You no longer know the dance of pain, you only know now what it is to memorize steps of a waltz." Those words I had committed to memory and waited patiently for the day to deliver them to this hollow shell of an instrument of pain, "If you wish business with then let us be about business. If you wish otherwise then let us be about that - but do not ever think of me as one underneath your thumb."



The focus from both the inner courtyards and the city proper beyond was all centered on the fallen Grandmaster and the victorious Jusshh'Antah. It seemed to me that even the waters of the cities' canals was holding its' breath in anticipation of resolution of the confrontation. A moment passed in the spawn of a day, and the silence broke into all out chaos in the sanctum of the Court. Brother against master, Crusader against Crusader, open warfare was on in full on the normally stoic corner of Cabilis. A troop of the legion was quickly sent for by one of the merchants of the Haggle Baron, not wanting his property laid to waste in the utter abandon that is a riot.



Turning my attentions from the now shamed Grandmaster to the small line of crusaders rapidly approaching me, I sprang backward onto my feet, releasing the grandmaster's limb from my makeshift robe-snare. I focused my energies to bound my being with the very stuff that the earth is made of, and braced to meet their charge.



Three stinging grasps were issued to me from the unwitted crusaders. Reeling some from the blows I was able to focus myself enough to cause my body to regain itself and begin my own offensive. Foot, hand, tail, mind and soul all fell into the comfortable blur that is the dance of pain. Downing crusader and trooper alike I began to feel my iron will wavering. I felt doom was upon me, after conquering many foes foreign to this very plane of existance, I began to lament that my end would be met in the very place I started. I had indeed come full circle. Finding that peace and inner one-ness that only the true follower of the path of pain can attain, a harmony began to escape my lips like that I had encountered out of the elven kin who weave tales of hero and villian. I sang a song pure: a chant of the true way of Cazic Thule; a chant that was so powerful it caused even veteran guards of the troopers to hesitate in their offensive toward me.



Having been at complete control of all of my movements and all of my thought, I can still say that I was most assuredly not in control of the tones that were coming forth from my lips. Singing my lament for the misguided children of Thule, my physical lethargy was gone. I had given in to the pain, I had given in to the death and the coming darkness. I had become one with our God.



All of the wordly elements seemed to flow with my strikes. My robe was ablaze with the fires of Jiva; my fists rang out loudly with each strike, a small praise to the very earth itself; my body moved with the grace and fluidity of Prexus' domain; my feet seemed almost to be lifted up to Veeshan's heaven. Dispatching my oponents with only enough force to cripple, I quickly established a semi circle of assailants around me. And there we stood, all brethen of blood born by Cazic from the grasp of our enemies, and yet at this moment enemies on purest principle. I kept my outward physical composure to ward away another wave of attacks from them, but my mind was a complete wasteland.



All semblance of inner one-ness; even the undefinable sense of being a sentient creature escaped me - all that remained was the Dance of Pain. That pure and sacred art handed down from Master to Whiff; Oh how it had been perverted! It was all I could do to subdue an outlash of rage at the moment I thought of how tainted the sacred art - MY sacred philosophy - had been tainted by one Grandmaster who had strayed from the path.



From the crowd gather between the court and Haggle Baron, a lone shrouded figure, wearing raiments entirely too similar to my familial robe, stepped through the line of troopers and crusaders to stand before me. Oh how I would have loved to show him pain for such boldness! But my hand was stayed. The lone figure slid back his hood enough for me to see his face. A more mottled and aged one among the iksar I have never layed eyes upon. The horn formations on his head were so grown over that he appeared to have only one large bulbous rim of scale forming a halo along his head. But his eyes! Yes his eyes betrayed his age! Still showing all of the longing and lust for life of a new broodling and yet showing a burden of wisdom which would almost seem too great for any single Iksar to possess.



"Come with me ronin Southpaw, it is time for you to serve your calling." The ancient iksar almost whispered.



Immediately a churning in the crowd occured. Whispers of "he really exists!' and "what is this magic of the demons!" arouse prominently from the mob.



The aged iksar replaced his hood and turned back to face the mob he had risen out of. A wave parted to each side of the immediate path he would have to follow to leave the courtyard. "Come now, Jusshh'Antah, we have much left to do."



As quickly as my body had been infused with the unnatural powers they were gone. The world then returned to me as it should be. I had clearness of thought and one-ness of self again- and I was filled with an all too familiar sensastion - fear.


</p>

This is actually pretty interesting.



Although I have no idea who the mysterious ancient Iksar is...


http://www.twenkill.net/anezka/images/AnHazeSig.jpg

full size pic (http://www.twenkill.net/anezka/images/AnHaze.jpg)</p>

Ok, this one is very dialogue heavy. Even though I didn't want to bog it down with a lot of spoken text I almost left myself in a position where I had to. Hopefully if I get around to another installment we can get back to the action.







For all of the apprehension and questions I began this journey with, I was given no closure - only more pieces of a puzzle to fill. While I followed this most ancient of iksar through the city, winding through back alleys and catacombs I lost myself in reflection.



It had been a dreadful night in the forest of the burning wood. I had spent days unnumbered fasting and studying the striking patterns of the hornets indigenous to the wood. In the middle of what I would guess the third night of one of my fastings, I was meditating on a scorched timber in the middle of the wood. Various undead creatures of the night had shown themselves, all mindless enough to try and attack me. I had no problem dispatching the nuisances and returning to my meditations on striking speed.



A storm was cresting over the near mountains and I prepared myself to let myself fall into the sound of their drops, and let my mind attune itself to a rhythm of unending speed and irregularity. An "Ordered Chaos" was the philosophy of striking I was currently at work on, and a good hard rain would provide just the rhythm I was looking for.



Brought out of my meditation by the sound of approaching footsteps. Footsteps that were not irregular and hollow sounding like those of the undead, but also footsteps that were no where as thunderous as those of the gorillas of the forest. There was no mistaking these footsteps - they were the approaching steps of an adolescent iksar.



"State your business young one, I'm sure you aren't out here all alone by accident."



The young broodling staggered back a few steps at my greeting. "Aa-are you the one they call the Jusshh'Antah Southpaw?"



"I am the one they call Ript, why do you seek out the Jusshh'Antah?"



"I-I I'm to present him with a summons to the Court of Pain." The young broodling stammered.



This nearly sat me off of my feet. A summons?! Not only am I no longer of age to do menial tasks of public debt, but I am a Jusshh'Antah! An outcast of my own accord! How dare they present me with a summons!



"Whom is the master responsible for sending out this summons young broodling?" I asked while rising from my sitting position.



"There is no name attached to this summons I am afraid Ript, just a seal with a picture of 3 fists."



Upon standing I was able to get a full grasp on exactly how young this particular iksar was. I was a full head and shoulders above him. "Do your masters allow you to leave so far from the court so soon young broodling?"



"Yes, they insist upon it. They say that the only way for one to improve their powers of body stasis is to practice the technique under extreme situations of fear. Grandmaster Glokx says such is the will of Cazic Thule."



Egomaniacs! Sending a whiff this far out to learn how to convince his foes he's dead?! This was not the place for a young broodling to learn the difference between falling to the ground and mastering his body.



"We shall travel back to Cabilis then. I am the Southpaw you seek."



The young whiff's eyes widened with horror and his legs acted as if he wanted to flee, but fear of punishment from his masters kept them fastened tightly to the forest floor.



"You fear me young whiff?"



"Y-y Yes, I m-must say it's a little terrifying to be standing in front of the Iksar who slew 45 of the Court's highest ranking masters to gain his freedom."



I could not help but let out a small chuckle. "Yes young whiff, I did fight - and fight hard to gain my freedom, but I slew no one. Let us travel to cabilis and see who exactly this nameless master is."



The irony of that statement snapped my mind back to the present. Could this ancient of iksar leading me through the bowels of Cabilis be the legendary nameless master? His was a legend of yore even when I was but a broodling being educated by the hierophants. How could a mortal triumph so over the years? Was this nameless master just a guise for some ancient means to punish those who chose to pursue their mastery shunning the Court of Pain? My head throbbed with a plethora of questions to the point that my vision blurred.



"Stop, I must stop now," I petitioned the ancient Iksar.



"There is no time for stopping brave Jusshh'Antah, the journey itself is often the goal."



"I will go no further until I have some closure!" I railed.



The ancient iksar stopped and turned to face me, "Does any advancement ever come without closure young Jusshh'Antah? Our destination is near, there will be plenty of time for questions there."



After a short span through the underbelly of the sewers of Cabilis we came to an alcove that was stocked with living provisions and a surprisingly vast collection of old parchments.



"Now, here we are young Southpaw - my humble dojo," The aged iksar almost whispered.



"Are you the one who sent me the summons ancient master? Are you aware that I, a Jusshh'Antah, am in no league with the swift tails?"



The old iksar's laugh came out in a series of labored breaths, "I am no more a swift tail than you Southpaw, I hold no authority of their's, and they none of mine."



"Then why have you brought me here? Do you wish to prolongue my suffering as the rest of this cursed town? I shall not go down without resistance I warn you, even if it means wrestling with a myth."



"So much fear you possess Ript. Fear is fuel, not a beast - consume your fear and let it give you power, do not let it devour you."



The old iksar's words had a soothing effect and his eyes showed no sign of alternate intent. Why was he interested in me?



"If you are not bringing me here to render punishment, then why have you summoned me, and moreover, who are you?"



"I have summoned you because the time grows near for me to pass into the great blackness a final time, young iksar. And I am your great, great, great granduncle - Marres Southpaw... the first Jusshh'Antah."



All of the days' events culminated to head with the the latest revelation I had been given. The blackness overcame me swiftly, and I lay unconcious at the hands of a fellow outcast. I had never felt more close to my calling in life.


</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://pub147.ezboard.com/bmonklybusiness43508.showUserPublicProfile?gid=rip tsouthpaw>Ript Southpaw</A> at: 3/14/03 12:24:07 pm

Part 3:



My sleep was long and deep, although no dreams came to me this slumber - only a great sense of deepest terror filled me during my unconsciousness. A sensation of fear so profound it was if my entire being was capsulated in a globe of fear, suspended only by my dread of falling. I was being consumed. I was hunted. I was weak. Then, I was awake.



Cool, damp rock served as my bed, as it has many times before in my life away from Cabilis. I sat up from my prone position and started to run through a few breathing excersizes and muscle control techniques to help me focus my mind. Once my morning routine was complete, I stood and composed myself and began to explore my surroundings.



Various tomes and scrolls lined the walls, some obviously very worn and tathered, some appeared to be written on the finest of parchments and bound in iron or steel. Most of the texts were written in the native language of the iksar, but some of the texts were written, from what I could tell from my limited knowledge of communications with them, in the script of men. On the lone desk in the semi circular alcove were various drawings outlining everything from the most basic of Swift Tail training techniques to pictures and outlines of forms that seemed to be even beyond my abilities. On the opposite wall from the entrance to the alcove was the stone floor that served as my bed, and a hinged door.



"Marres?" I let the beckon hang in the air. Having no reason to fear anything in this hidden away sanctuary, I still harbored a bit of trepidation. I felt as if I was being watched by those all too familiar unseen eyes. I felt a tension growing in my arms. My instincts were shouting to me to fall into myself and give way to my fear - to seek out these unseen assailants and teach them true fear. I fought off those instinctual feelings and decided I could not just stay here waiting for Marres, I had to find some area away from the eyes that were watching me.



I strode toward the door near the sleeping area and opened it. Inside was a regularly shaped room, much to my dismay here in the bowels of the town. The walls were ornately painted with scenes glorifying Cazic Thule, depictions of various members of the Swift Tail caste who had made their mark on Iksar history, and a few of the paintings showed an Iksar master undergoing the trials to leave the Swift Tail order. Immediately my attention was focused to the pictoral account of an Iksar Master earning his freedom from the Swift Tails.



It was more highly detailed than the rest of the paintings, even though all of them seemed to be done by someone blessed with a gift for the brush. It seemed almost as if some magic had sealed a moment in time onto this wall; every facial feature of every Iksar in the painting was flawless - every master attacking the would-be Jusshh'Antah wore scowls of twisted fury, the whiffs in attendance with absolute stoicism watching their brothers and teachers fighting against one another. As I contined to survey the picture it seemed almost as if the eyes of the Grandmaster in the painting were looking directly into me, judging me. I felt myself drawn into his gaze and matched it's intensity with one of my own.



The room around me began to melt away from my mind's eye and all that was left in my world were me and the almost surreal grandmaster. I could feel my personal will fading away and the void that was the Dance of Pain taking over. I forced myself to compose all of my anger, hatred, malice - the emotions of the weak - into a singular terror that would allow me to remain in control: I was terrified of being weaker than a false disciple.



Not giving into the void that was swelling to overtake me, I strode toward the picture. The painting was beautiful and grossly mocking at the same time. The images seemed to contort, swirld, and blend as I stepped closer. The pompous grandmaster's likeness remained static in sea of nothing the painting was melting into in my mind, his grin of self indulgence almost growing wider as the rest of image faded away.



"Give in to death, Southpaw. You have no purpose in life without your caste," boomed in my head, issued from every angle toward me, "The path of fear is weak. Glokx's teachings are absolute, even if they do not ring true to your pitiful deity."



I grew very cold and suddenly felt powerless. Was the path of fear truely weaker than the path of someone who worships only their art? I was afraid this voice was right. I was afraid that I had thrown away family, order, and country in pursuit of a dead practice.



"No!" I shouted back with as much resolve as I could strain. Focusing on the picture of the Grandmaster I began to fear that it was indeed I, not the Swift Tails, who had lost the true path.



The picture of the grandmaster seemed to boil over into the room, drawing with it the entire mass of the walls in the room: stretching and pulling himself away from the fabric of both the room and reality. In the wake of this surreal figure transcending from artistic medium into the physical world was left but a great void. Once fully separated from the wall the rest of the room about us began to crumble away, leaving only a circular section of stone tiling beneath us. The newly corporeal grandmaster was wretched looking in comparison to the painting's depiction of him. The proud jawline and perfect horn pattern on his face were left as a characatuer of their painted glory. His eyes seemed as empty orbs and his clothes tattered and soiled.



Seeing this wretched thing that was a depiction of a proud and lofty grandmaster of the court gave me renewed confidence in my fear. It was not fear that had made me weak, it was self-doubt which is no kin at all of fear. "Your corruption and lack of loyalty to the Lord of Fear has left you hollow and in ruin!" I growled toward the withered creature formed of stone and paint.



It's mocking laughter jarred me to my very core, "Your hollow service to a pathetic God is soon to reach it's conclusion, whelp. Let your fear shroud you in your grave insect!"



With that the animation closed the gap between he and myself, foot flying first toward my nose. The impact of his heel to my snout knocked loose two fangs into my throat and sent me reeling almost off of the circular platform and into an unknown depth below. I do not believe I could have been hit harder by one of Rallos' children with a sledge mallet. I rolled forward into a crouch, wary of this giant-strengthed demon.



Coughing up blood and tooth I focused my fear into a needle's point into my mind. "You will learn to fear before death, Infidel," I cursed under my breath as I spat out the last bit of blood from my throat.



Before I was able to regain any type of footing, the beast was upon me. Striking with unhumanly haste the beast began his assault on me. Using every advantage and trick I had learned sparring with other masters of fist and tail I dodged and flailed as expertly as I could. Each time the beast would pass my defences he would not strike, but rather rip off part of my garments with his stone talons. Using what little was left of my robe to try and deter the demon's vision I tried to fall into the rhythm of the Dance of Pain - but my body would not heed me, and I continued to awkwardly maneuver as best I could out of the destructive path of the beast.



Laughing and mocking my fighting stance the beast continued to press me, squaring off to me and pressing me around the outer edge of the circular platform. The beast continued to disrobe me with his attacks, shredding away my familial robe with every strike. Soon he stopped his offensive and I stood before him, completely naked - he had taken away everything that I wore that would provide me with any protection from his deadly talons. His maniacle laughter echoed off the insides of my skull. Every sound the beast issued made my already swolen jaw throb with pain. "Your raiments are as your faith, foolish pariah. Now admit defeat, and bend your will back to that of the Swift Tails."



"My garments are tools, they are not the spirit. I shall hold true to the path of Fear until my spirit is no more, but my will shall not be broken." With those words I used every ounce of fight I had left in me to leap into toward the chest of the beast. Bracing my shoulder for impact with the stone creature's chest, I felt nothing as I passed straight through him to land on the other side of him, face first into stone.



"Hahaha! You can not even touch me fool! My style is superior to your's and your will is not even signifigant enough to harm me. I grow tired of pulling off your wings butterfly, but you did give me some entertainment - for that I will provide you with swift death. Do you have anything you would like to say before you pass into the oblivion?"



At that moment of my greatest desperation and humiliation I clenched my right fist so tightly that blood flowed freely from my palm. Feeling all of the pain, disgrace, and doubts flow from my mind I lifted myself up to a crouch again in front of the ominous, grinning beast.



My palm, now soaked with my own blood began to glow dimly with a black flame. I could feel fear welling up in the creature. He took a nervous step back from me. I relaxed the iron grip of my hand but the black flame remained - the blackness shimmering and dancing off of my fingertips. As I looked down toward my left hand, a similar flame, dark as pitch, was emiting a glow outlining a my hand. I could sense the doubts and fear increase in the beast, and his confidence was subsiding.



"What! What are you doing! What sort of sorcery is this?! Practicing of the black arts is forbidden strictly by anyone who calls themself a disciple! Y-y you do not want to disgrace yourself in front of your God before you die do you?!" The beast stammered out as his shrunk away from me.



"This is not the work of magics. This is the light of fear - the light my God has shown me through trials of pain and terror. Now, fuel my strength with your screams and let us both give praise to Cazic."



Making my strikes swift and sure I felt my blows landing solidly on the beast. Losing all form to my dance I fell into the purest of form of the fight, feeling what needs to be done, not reacting - Ordered Chaos. The beast wailed screams that pierced my ears, but I ignored it, focusing all the pain in my jaw and the wicked beasts screams into striking speed. The beast struck out wildly, obviously just out of sheer reaction, and hit me fully on my ribs. I heard clearly the sound of my flesh and bone giving way in a disgusting crackle, but I put aside the temporary pressure I felt and continued my offensive.



The only thing I could now see were openings in the beasts defensive stances and the blurs of black-light left by my rapidly striking fists. Chunks of stone and paint began to fly off of the beast with every strike - delictable horror now splayed broadly on his face. With a well placed kick to the sternum of the juggernaut, he toppeled backwards to the cold stone floor.



"This round may be your's Southpaw, but I am not the greatest of your foes. The will of my masters shall not be denied."



"Then let your masters come; and let them also bear witness to the skill and fury of a trained Iksar Jusshh'Antah."



With those words I could feel the energies surrounding my hands begging to be released. Welling up with a great rush of fear and trepidation, I let my palms fall down to my side open, feeling all of my being focus on those two points of my body. With a great yell I think placed the balls of my hands against each other and struck the air toward the great beast. A sphere of black energy rushed out of my body and struck the beast in the chest.



I felt the energies continue to rush out of my body uncontrollably, it seemed to be a stream of endless terror issuing out of my body. Years of apprehension, fear, terror, dread, and anxiety all poured fourth from my very being and out of my hands. Eventually it seemd as if all of the energies of my very soul were no more. I toppled over in a heap supporting myself by my knees and a hand. I could feel the cuts in my right hand being filled with dirt and bits of stone from the floor.



Surveying the remains of the fallen beast, I noticed that in the midst of a pile of gravel was the body of Marres. Marres! How could this have happened!



"Marres! Marres!" I shouted.



He looked up at me through those vivrant yellow orbs, the mottled skin of his neck and chest heaving for breath. "Ript... you must... wake up.



Wake up Ript! Wake up! We have to make haste!" Marres yelled with the most fervor I had heard him say anything.



Snapping out of my dream and back into the small alcove that was Marres' dwelling area, I looked around bleary eyed at all of the parchments and papers Morres had collected, clearly in disarray. Marres then scuttled in front of my eyes carrying both arms full of various bottles, tomes and the like. "Ript, we must go! Prime Hierophant Vek has called for your head for the riot that you caused yesterday. We must go into hiding, you are not yet ready to face the enemies you have against you! Let us make our way to the royal tomb, it is rare that the authorities will seek the living with the dead."



Grabbing my bundle of equipment and throwing it into the folds of my robe, we began our flight from the sewers and into the catacombs of Cabilis. Throwing a sheet of burlap over ourselves, Marres and I concealed ourselves best we could as beggars to make our way through the town proper.



Entering the western half of Cabilis where the tombs of the dead were located, I was concentrating less on my possible captors than I was the dream I had just had. It was often said that the most fervant servants of Cazic often received instruction in dreams, but what could all of this have possibly meant? More importantly, why was I remaining here - a fugitive in a city which I renounced so many years ago? These events, so out of place in my normally composed life had to have some meaning: and something told me Marres knew what that was.


</p>Edited by: <A HREF=http://pub147.ezboard.com/bmonklybusiness43508.showUserPublicProfile?gid=rip tsouthpaw>Ript Southpaw</A> at: 3/14/03 4:39:18 pm